


Honey tips

by KendraPendragon



Series: My tumblr writing [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, valentine's day fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 10:18:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: It's Valentine's day. Molly is late with her present. It's sweet. Very, very sweet.





	Honey tips

Valentine’s Day. Sherlock was unaware of this day until a certain pathologist walked into his life…or rather he in hers. They met in the lab of St. Bart’s in August. In the following February, Molly introduced this holiday to him by putting a cooler next to him, decorated with a pink bow.  
“Happy Valentine’s Day”, she said shyly, a pink blush adorning her cheeks. Sherlock was confused. Molly recognized and, understanding him already at this point in their short acquaintance, explained patiently what this day was about. Of course he had ridiculed it. Still, he had accepted the gift (the cooler contained ten toes, ten fingers and three eyeballs) with a smile and a nod. She had beamed at him.  
Sherlock would never forget this smile.  
It became one of their many little traditions. Every Valentine’s Day, Sherlock found a present of Molly Hooper on various locations. The first few years, she gave it to him in her lab. Sherlock always made sure to find a reason to pop in on 14th February. After John came into his life, Sherlock opened up more to human emotions. It had seemed only logical to let Molly into his inner circle. They both felt much more comfortable with each other and at one point, the gifts started to appear in his home. For example waiting for him on the kitchen table, sticking to his fridge, on his coffee table, even in his coat pocket once. Last year, the first year after his return, he woke up in his bed looking at a little square box in gift wrapping and a pink bow hanging over his head. Sherlock still had no idea how she managed to pin the string to the ceiling without waking him.

Today was the 14th of February once again. It was 11.35 pm. And so far, no sight of Molly Hooper. Nor a gift. They didn’t always see each other that day, but there was always a gift.

  
Sherlock checked his watch again: 11.36pm. Where was she?  
He gnawed on his bottom lip. It was raining cats and dogs.  
A terrible thought crossed his mind: What if something had happened?  
His body reacted to this thought immediately; his heart muscle clenched and nausea spread in his stomach.  
Ridiculous, he thought outraged and started pacing the floor. But no matter how much he tried to forbid it, all kinds of horror scenarios flashed before his eyes: Molly in a car accident, Molly kidnapped by a pirate (what on earth, brain?!), Molly stuck in an elevator with a dubious man. And then it was Molly grinning happily, skipping through the streets on the arm of a handsome man, having forgotten all about him. Strangely, this image stayed with him, stalked him through the flat where ever he went.  
Should he text her? Call her?  
No. If she was in fact on a Valentine’s date with, they’d probably be doing stuff right now.  
Sherlock shuddered at the thought of Molly having intercourse…with another man. He didn’t mind picturing her having intercourse with herself…or with him, for that matter. Not that he ever thought about it in a serious way. It just was something that bubbled up to the surface when his brain wasn’t occupied with cases.

The next time he checked his watch it was 11:55 pm.  
Fine, he would go check on her. He would take a cab or walk to her bloody flat, he thought as he searched the living room for his keys, and if the light’s weren’t on he would sneak inside and take a look around. As soon as he would hear sex noises, he was out of there and forget all about this stupid holiday. This whole gift giving thing on Valentine’s Day was ridiculous and over-commercialized, anyway!  
Just as he was about to step into the hallway and throw on his coat, he heard the front door slam open. Footsteps thundered up the stairs.  
Sherlock stood frozen in place, stunned by his freakishly racing heartbeat and the intensity of how much he wanted it to be her.  
In fact, Dr. Molly Hooper bolted up the stairs.  
“I made it!” she shouted as soon as her foot hit the top. Taking in big gulps of air, she steadied herself at the wall.  
“So sorry”, she panted, “the whole day got away from me. It was a chaos you wouldn’t believe. Nothing went as planned” she continued and let her bag fall from her shoulder onto the floor. Then she unwound her scarf from her neck and let it join the bag. “Twelve autopsies today! Would you believe it? I know this sounds unsensitive, but…” she kept babbling while she unzipped her jacket and threw it on the floor as well.  
Sherlock was utterly confused by this untidiness. Molly hated untidiness. Every time he stayed at her place, she kept nagging him about picking up his coat and hanging it on the rack by her door.  
He was about to point this out, ignoring his still throbbing heart, when Molly took a deep breath and straightened, checking her watch.  
“Woops, 11:54 pm! Silly me! Wasting time with my yackety-yak. What did I come here for, anyway?”  
She looked at him. And then a smile spread on her lips which made Sherlock’s mouth go dry.  
“Oh, right!”  
Molly rushed forward and lunged at him. Sherlock yelped and stumbled backwards.  
Automatically, his hands grabbed her buttocks to steady her. She had already wrapped her legs and arms around him and was now looking at him in a way that emptied his head of anything else it had contained. His senses where overloaded with Molly Hooper. Her flashing eyes, her wicked smile, her warm, oh so pleasantly warm body pressed against his chest and groin (god, his groin!)…and the lovely full cheeks of her backside in his hands.  
Sherlock couldn’t help the open mouth and the big questioning eyes.  
Her giggle made him aware of how stupid he must look now.  
In his defence, the hot breasts against his chest and the even hotter groin pressing against his penis was bloody unfair!  
“Sit down, Sherlock.”  
He stumbled back and fell into his scrunching leather chair. Molly was now on her knees and lifted herself off of him, a contact which cleared his mind, yes, but was instantly missed.

“Hi”, she said softly now, smiling the smile Sherlock knew and understood.  
“Hi”, he croaked, his eyes searching desperately for answers.  
“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding almost frightened.  
“Well, due to my shitty day, forgive my language, I couldn’t pick up your present. Lucky for you, I came up with a substitution.”  
Sherlock gulped. Pictures flashed before his eyes. Oh so many, many pictures. Sensual pictures, involving them pressing their intimate body parts together in oh so many different, pleasant ways.  
“And what would that be?” he managed to croak.  
“A kiss!” she announced proudly.  
He blinked as he felt heat creep up his cheeks. Honestly, he should be more worried about the heat that spread in his loins. But with Molly Hooper straddling him, it was hard up to impossible to form a logic thought.  
“A-a-a-a kiss?” he stammered.  
The logical part way back in his mind was outraged. Sherlock Holmes didn’t stammer!  
“Yep. The best gift ever.”  
He blinked again.  
“Last year you gave me a prehistoric bee preserved in amber.”  
“So?”

They looked at each other.  
“Oh! Wait, I almost forgot!”  
With a bite of her lip she started to undo the buttons of her polka dotted red blouse. Sherlock’s eyes widened.  
Did he do something to stop her?  
No.  
His eyes were fixed on her fingers and every bit of skin she hastily revealed to them.  
A bit of black satin came into view, but her blouse hid the rest of her bra until she was done unbuttoning.  
Finally, with a playful grin, she brushed the obtrusive blouse to the side.  
Shock.  
Confusion.  
A chuckle.  
Sherlock shook his head. Molly giggled.  
A silly looking bee adorned the left cup of her bra. On the right side yellow letters were sewed into the material: Will you bee my Valentine?  
“Molly Hooper, you are…”  
“Don’t ruin it, Sherlock.”  
“…inventive.”

She giggled and slung her arms around his neck, moving closer.

“Hm, not as bad as I thought.”  
With another confusing and inspiring smile Molly settled her weight on his crotch again. Sherlock’s hiss turned it into a pleased grin.  
Her hands wandered into his hair and gently she pulled until his head tilted backwards.  
“I’m wearing bee knickers, too”, she grinned.  
Sherlock’s lips parted.  
Her warmth clashed against his body, seeping through his thin red shirt and caressing his skin.  
The mist from before fogged up his mind again. It didn’t feel unpleasant. Not at all. But it frightened him.  
“Molly…” he whispered, his tone a begging. What for he fought to acknowledge. But his hands moved already, settled on her lovely bum and pulled her pelvis forward until he felt its weight and heat where his primitive instincts wanted her.  
The vixen on top of him bit her lip and ground her pussy against his already swelling cock. A moan escaped Sherlock’s lips and his eyes fell close while he enjoyed the sensation and condemned the clothing separating their sexes.  
Molly let out a gasp and made him lifting his heavy eyelids.  
“11:59 pm! We’re running out of time!”  
“Molly, we shouldn’t-”

That’s all he managed to say before she pressed her lips on his, silencing him and emptying his head with an unexpected warm and soft kiss.

Every protest on his lips was wiped away with the swipe of the tip of her tongue. With a surprised moan he gripped her buttocks harder and opened his mouth, her tongue entering immediately, and the clever little thing put him to pieces within this one last minute of Valentine’s Day.  
Her tongue and lips amazingly tasted like honey, were soft and hot and he couldn’t get enough of it.  
Why on earth hadn’t they done this years ago?

Such a waste, such a terrible waste of time. One of the worst mistakes he made in his life.

Sherlock let out a raw gasp when Molly started to grind her pelvis against his, jubilating at the sensation of her hot pussy against his fully erect cock.  
He let his trembling hands start the journey of exploring her body, wandering along her calves and thighs, feeling, kneading the skin beneath the black trousers. Another moan escaped him when his curious fingers felt the bare skin of her sides. It was so soft and invitingly warm it woke the hunger for more. While sucking at the delicious tongue in his mouth he wandered up and down her back, pressing her flat against his chest only to push her far enough so he could explore her belly, dip his thumb into her belly button before wandering higher and higher until his fingertips bumped against the silly bra she was wearing. There he hesitated, unsure, shy even, the fingers brushing along the hem of the bra like a tiger pacing back and forth trying to find the best way to hunt down his prey.  
“Do you want to touch them?” Molly breathed hotly into his mouth.  
“Yes. Yes”, he managed to reply, his voice a husky plead.  
Molly giggled and that was permission enough for him.

Looking deep into her eyes he cupped her breasts with his large hands and squeezed the perky mounds of his pathologist and with that fulfilled himself one of his most secret dreams.He revelled in seeing Molly’s lips part and her eyes fluttering close as he continued to massage the firm hot breasts beneath his hands, disturbed only by the rough fabric and the google eyes of the bee. He stated his annoyance of the hindering object with a grunt.  
Molly giggled and rolled her hips, causing Sherlock to gasp. His cock was throbbing.  
“It opens in the front”, she whispered then and Sherlock looked down, his forehead resting against hers, as he clumsily fumbled with the clasp until finally it snapped open. No sooner than her breasts were freed from the bra his hands covered them again.

This time, Molly let out the moan.

It was the most arousing noise Sherlock had ever heard. He needed to hear it again. And again.

So with shaking but teasing fingers he stroke her mounds, rubbed her pebbled nipples with his thumbs, pushed against them, pulled at and pinched them until he had safely filed away twenty different moans from his pathologist.

“God, Sherlock”, Molly gasped and pulled at his hair to bring his lips in position for another deep and hungry kiss.  
But Sherlock broke the kiss too soon, judging from the displeased noise from the beauty on top of him, but he couldn’t wait any longer.  
With a gentle pull at her ponytail he bent her backwards until the perky breasts were raised and waiting. With a growl Sherlock took the left one in his mouth. God, even her nipple tasted like honey. With his eyes closed he sucked and licked hungrily, caught the little nub between his teeth and pulled to let it plop out of his mouth again.  
Molly’s fingers were fisted in his hair as she writhed against him, begging him with her little moans and gasps to continue.  
He didn’t need the motivation but it was appreciated nonetheless.  
How could he have ever thought of them as too small, he scolded himself while he pressed his face against them. They were perfect, as if made for his mouth and hands only. And he certainly took advantage of it until the naughty pathologist pressed down on his cock hard and almost made him cum.

“Bedroom”, he breathed demandingly and without waiting for her reply got out of his seat, lifting her up along the way.  
“This is not the bedroom”, Molly giggled when he walked into the kitchen, one strong arm supporting her while the other opened a cabinet.  
Molly grinned as he took out the expensive Manuka-honey she gave him two years ago.  
“What are you planning to do with this, Mr. Holmes?”  
“From your wanton little grin I can tell that you know exactly what I plan to do with it.”  
“That jar cost 55 pounds, Sherlock!”  
“Yes, it would be a waste putting it on rubbish old toast. It tastes quite good on you, though.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, she said and blushed for the first time tonight.  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her while he carried her into his bedroom.  
“Please don’t play daft Molly. I know you have bought a jar for yourself, I’ve seen it in your kitchen. Your tongue and both your nipples taste of honey and even though the authors of those trashy romance novels you like to read prefer to compare the taste of skin to honey or some kind of fruit, it is very unrealistic.”  
“You didn’t fall for this one, did you?”  
“No.”  
“But how do you know I used the expensive one? I could have used normal honey.”

They had reached their destination during their little chat and Sherlock put her down on the bed, him kneeing on the mattress between her legs. He put the jar of honey on the night stand and began to unbutton his shirt. Molly wantonly wrapped her legs around him again and teased his feet and calves with her toes while they continued to speak.  
“I can differentiate twenty-five types of honey. I didn’t taste any of them on your nipples.”  
Molly bit her lip to suppress a grin.  
“My nipples certainly had an effect on the taste.”  
“Yes. It made it so much better”, he said in a seductive tone and bent over her.  
Molly shivered and turned her head to offer him her neck.  
With a smile he took her up on said offer and sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin. Molly impatiently pulled his shirt off of him. After it was gone he settled his full weight on top of her. When the hot skin of their chests made contact for the very first time, both of them moaned.

  
“Sherlock?” Molly whispered weakly into his ear, her hands exploring his back.  
“Hm?” Sherlock replied, quite busy licking the soft spot on her neck.  
“There is one other spot I coated in honey.”  
The consulting detective’s head snapped up. The curls bounced.  
He stared at her. Not in his wildest dreams did he image Molly to be so kinky.

Once again he wanted to kick himself for not having the guts to invite her to his bed earlier.

Oh, there was a lot of making up to do.  
His full lips turned into a seductive grin.  
“Is that so? Well then…” he purred and settled his waist between her legs and pushed his throbbing cock against her fanny, “…shall we see if I find your honey pot?”  
“I think you already did”, Molly moaned and pushed against the hard hot cock rubbing her slit in this mind-blowing way.  
Sherlock chuckled. Molly fisted her hand into his hair again and pulled him down for another demanding, mind-clearing kiss.

Not much was spoken after that.

But when they emerged from his room 34 hours later, the jar of expensive Munaka-honey was empty.


End file.
